And cinnamon Always of cinnamon
by Liliac Copper
Summary: We speak a language lost to them, it comes in soft caresses and silent words that fall from lashes, dripped in the honeyed elixirr of womanhood. It smells of lavender. And cinnamon. Always of cinnamon.
1. Chapter 1

I lay here. Beside her. In her arms. I smile softly against her skin... Its soft and giving, warm and smells of lavender. And cinnamon. Always of cinnamon.

Her arms wrap round my waist, gentle and possessive, but not objectified. To her I am not some trinket to attest to her manhood. To her I am just Pippa. My arms stretch to her neck, fingers entangled in her flaxen tresses of spun sunlight. I am held under the curve of her jaw, protected by her and held against her neck like a treasure. Our legs are a tangle of sleeping gowns, our hair a mixture of braids and knots.

I think back to that day I met her, I fell hopelessly for her. lost in her grey eyes and their depth, their pain. She hated me then, she was haughty and spiteful.

Still is at times, but I love her. Fee she is my princelet, or so we joke.

She came slowly, like an abused dog to a new master. I was ecstatic when she came and fell in with me. In love. But it wasn't so much of a falling as a flying.

I soar when she's happy and crumble when she's upset. I am woefully enraputured by her. Enamored. In Love.

I fear when she is gone. She is so fragile under her hard exterior. And so reckless. But that is what makes her Fee, my Fee. She is so deliciously wonderful.

What we have is rare, sacred. Deep and mystical. We tread waters English Schoolgirls are not to tread, not so young, not with each other. We have never lain with the other as man and wife, not yet. She is not ready, not after that Admiral. Its sweet, stolen kisses on cheeks, lips and embraces only. Long embraces through the long cold nights here at Spence.

Her breath comes slowly in my hair and I tremble as it washes over me, intoxicating with its sweet perfume.

I remember Gemma Doyle, her fiery hair caught Fee's eye. I was afraid I had lost her, my dear sweet Felicity. But Gemma had eyes for a dark Indian Boy. I relished in that night when Fee came back to me- twas the night Gemma kissed the boy so boldly.

Fee tightens her hold on me, pulling me closer to her bosom, her eyes flutter open, grey and peaceful for so stormy a person. I kiss her lips and know why men separate us.

**We speak a language lost to them, it comes in soft caresses and silent words that fall from lashes, dripped in the honeyed elixirr of womanhood. It smells of lavender. And cinnamon. Always of cinnamon.**


	2. Chapter 2

Fee, my darling, delicious, beloved Fee...

I love her. I want her. I miss her. . . She sits across from me, beside Ann who is reading from a book Gemma has found. We are out of doors, on the green... Fee smiles like she's about to laugh from Ann's serious rendition of some lady poet's sonnet on love- some "let me count the ways I love thee"... I've tried, but I can not count the ways I love Fee. She's so... primal, so vibrant and vivacious... I can't count all the ways because there are, simply, innumerable ways I love her.

I love the chiaroscuro of her fingers as they run through my hair at night, on our nights...

I love her laugh, full, throaty and as if nothing in the world matters but the two of us and our jokes.

I love that soft, funny noise she makes when she sleeps, like a kitten's mew.

I love her mind; the way she thinks is fresh, witty and borderline saucy at times.

I love her satin hair, like spun lightning as it flashes a brilliant white across a dark sky.

I love the freckle- beauty mark- on her left foot, second toe from her large toe.

I love her stormy grey eyes with the feline edge she gets when angry.

I love her smell, lavender and cinnamon~ a delirious combination of calm and frenzy.

I love her touch, sometimes gentle, like a feather's breath, or firm and steady.

But mostly, I love her... Felicity Worthington.

She's looking at me, and I blush. Fee's caught me again, off in a different moment....In our moment.

Gemma looks up from a flower she's depleted of petals, and it reminds me to be careful. I don't quite trust her. She might glean too much from Fee. Too much attention, too much knowledge. She might steal Fee away, spirit her off with promises of power I can't compare to. It scares me. . .

Its been said that women do not love women because ts unnatural. How can it be unnatural? Its so beautiful, wondrous, magnificent, and … ancient. Take the Sapphists. Or, or those Amazons Fee's always telling me about. They loved each other. . . Was that then unnatural?

We hear that men marry women because they like surrounding themselves with beautiful things- like gold, riches, horses... Does it not then make sense that beautiful things might also love beautiful things?

I fear I do not want to live in a world where I can not always be with her, with Fee. I could not stand the parting, the separation... a feeling akin to death would take hold. Without her, I am nothing. She fills me- completes me. I am empty with out her love, like a pretty vase to gather dust on Mama's mantle. . . I do not want to be empty. . .

God, I love her.


	3. Chapter 3

Since the night we returned from the visit to Madame Romanoff, I dream of the realms.

I dream of leaves that curl in at my touch, gold, and transcend reality's restrictions to become butterflies in vibrant baths of colors as they take wing.

I dream of Ann at peace with herself, singing with such passion that she transcends reality's restrictions and becomes as beautiful as her voice. I see the loose curls she dreams of take hold in her hair as her skin thins just so...

I see Gemma happily chasing her mother- reunited. At peace. Happy.

And I see Fee. She is whole here. She's perfectly pleased to hunt as huntress instead of waiting to be preyed on. The freedom, the power thrills- its electrifying.

And I see myself in a cave, a wondrous cave awaiting my Artemis to come at my soft beckoning. I see her mount, Fee, a hill and come, as she's always wanted, like a goddess of old, in a tunic and sandals with a quiver of arrows and a bow as she smiles.

I await my Artemis, my huntress, my Felicity, my princelet, as a lavender robed Aphrodite. Her own goddess of love. I sigh at her beauty and the peaceful freedom and suddenly, like birds taking to flight before the baying hound, I see it. The Cave of Sighs, a cave of wonders.

Our palms meet in a circle carved into the rock's dappled surface. And Fee and I are rhythmically united as one in a solid, sure kiss. I can only describe it as indescribable. No word can do it justice, only Fee's eyes eclipsed in a contented smile.

Her lips are firm against mine, like the warm skin of a sun-kissed plum before it gives way to yielding flesh. As our lips part I can feel her hands pull softly at my waist, drawing me nearer to her. And for once, nothing but the two of us exist. Nothing in the entire world but Fee who is now lazing, with her head on my lap. We exist in a periphery world I can but glance at with eclipsed eyes.

As my hands run through her spun lightening hair, I realize nothing can reach us- Admirals, Bumble, Indian boys, false spiritualists and propriety...It doesn't exist.

I realize somewhat slowly after I rouse myself from my dreaming that as long as I have this- these realms, these worlds of magic- I am free. Felicity is free. We are free. And we are together. Its all I've ever wanted to be loved and to love by and unto the same person.

The next thought comes darkly for it is a dark thought... Should I ever have to leave Fee I think I may take those berries Gemma warned me about...

I awake and I see Fee in her own bed, her own dreams, I know I will. I will take them and be with her always. She is strong. I am not. All I am is beautiful, not very good for survival.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey all, As an update and shot at me, your author, Im gonna take a break to explain a bit here.

What Im going for in the story: the focus is on Fee and Pippa, from Pippa's POV. Why? I felt that as these two obviously have a relationship, I needed to flesh it out better than what came across in the books. I wanted to show you what was happening before Pippa off and killed herself...

I own none of these characters at all. Think of it as this inspired me.

I am a fee and pippa fan. These two are my favorites.

And I will be writing more. Maybe some lemony custards:D But, of course, they will be cinnamon-y:D

Also please post comments, reactions on here. I love those. Okay? Now you can expect a new one to come roughly every thursday as those are my free days. Peace out all:P


	5. Chapter 5

Felicity, Fee. Cinnamon.

Words like this seem to float in the warm, full air of our room.

Smile. Love. Lust.

I am smiling broadly. Equally as merry as she- My Fee... I rhymed. Smile more. Giggle loudly. See her smirk from my stomach, her head resting on my pale chemise. Pale as the brilliant glare from the sun...

I am delirious. Irrevocably insane and pleasantly a flame.

She, my dear beloved, has breached our protective walls and left me vulnerable in a most delicious way. This must be like the green fairy or Queen Mab, the way I feel must be horribly diabolical because it feels so... wonderful. It is as if, in giving in to primal, carnal love, and "tainting" my soul, I have reached beyond that Eden and found myself my own fruit- only now there is no snake and there is no God. There are only two 17 year old girls and no man to tame their wilderness- they're passion- their love.

I have leapt without looking and found myself in a tangle, a tangle I should fear, should be running to dispel from my very being, but am instead luxuriating, basking in the silky, sensual glory of it all. Her fingers gently brush my thigh, a tantalizing flurry of sensation of bliss and potent sensuality. As they dance upon my skin in a ritualistic burlesque and tauntingly slowly inch upwards towards the apex of my legs, I arch and bemuse her. She slides down my stomach before pushing my hips back down again, smiling as she remarks softly, "down girl". I smirk, thinking of how easily this young lady has conquered me. . . And then her face vanishes and all I can see of her from my limited view is a mass of blonde hovering over my madge and then it collides.

Felicity is nipping and kissing at the inner sides of my thighs, pulling the dark curls of my sex with her deft fingers and -Oh, how delicious! I breathe deeply, savoring the blatant act of her wish, her want as she seizes my sex and kisses it fully on. Fee gasps like a cooing dove at the fountain that seems to have sprung from with in me, its a hot, burning sensation intermingled with her fingers that moments ago were complacently warm but are now ice against my seething, scathing flesh.

She presses and swirls a small nub at the peak of my madge, toying with it like a child and a pop...

In the moments after she caused me to shake and explode in lights, Felicity lay next to me and whispered heatedly in my ear, "Pip, darling, you are a wanton waif and... I love you."

Her body rolled against mine, and her nude flesh silkily touched mine as her hand gripped mine and she smiled in remembrance of the insatiable hunger that was mine.

denotes Victorian Slang for vagina


End file.
